As most of us have learned from the past two years of pandemic limitation and uncertainty, grief is not limited to the experience of death. During this challenging period in our history, most everyone has experienced grief in some way. Some grieve the loss of a job or a home; others grieve the loss of a relationship; still others grieve because of a divorce or separation from a spouse, family, or friends.

When the normal rhythm of life in community is interrupted by a catastrophic global event, the effect is that life all around us is radically upended by a deep sense of loss of control. The pause around the world is marked by a pendulum of emotions and events that swings in a wide arc between hope and despair every day.

Giving something that we have received to someone else is known as regifting, a practice that has been around for a long time but one that has become more openly acceptable in recent years. The urge to recycle our stuff is driven by a desire to rid ourselves of those things we do not want or need and will never use. We think that our castoffs might be used or enjoyed by someone else, so we pass them along as “gifts”.

According to Helen Keller, who was both blind and deaf, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” Gratefully, most of us will never know what it feels like to be blind and live in darkness or to be deaf and live in silence. Yet when we grieve the death of one we love, for a while we are spiritually blind. We grope our way through the darkness of grief because we cannot see the light of new life. In the presence of God our heart is transformed from darkness into light. In Emmanuel, we behold a clear vision for the rest of our lives.

At this time of the year, whatever festival or occasion we celebrate, most of us can recall a vignette of some kind that is part of our personal lore of the season. Some experiences we cherish and remember for a lifetime, others persist in memory, though in truth maybe they are better forgotten.

Though it may seem like a paradox of extremes, grief and gratitude are inextricably linked. Gratitude is an aspect of grief that seems oddly counterintuitive to our experience of loss and sadness. When it comes right down to it, who is ever really grateful for the experience of grief? However we reconcile the effect of death and grief on our heart and spirit, when the final outcome of all our pain and sorrow is deep gratitude for the sacred gift of life, we are transformed both emotionally and spiritually by the death of one we love.

When we stop to consider everything that’s happened since the death of our loved one we realize that our lives have changed – dramatically and irrevocably.

Grief is an inevitable part of both life and death. Since this website was first launched almost ten years ago, the number of people whose lives have been forever changed by death has increased exponentially. Likely this number will continue to grow. While the fundamental nature of grief remains unchanged, our personal, individual experience of grief has become more layered and more multidimensional because of the frequency, intensity, and alarming regularity with which death occurs in the wounded world in which we live.

In grief we are very suggestible. Sometimes we take our emotional cues from the relationship of others to the one we grieve who has died. When “should” takes on larger than life or larger than death proportions, often we set ourselves up for an experience of grief that feels neither personal nor authentic.

In grief there's a kind of fluid balance between fear and love.

Lent is a time of spiritual introspection and self-examination that leads to the renewal of our faith and a closer relationship with God.

Comfort is an experience.